


a pick-up game

by andnowforyaya



Series: B.A.P Bingo Challenge Fills [7]
Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Baseball, Gen, M/M, Rivalry, but only a little bit of rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:40:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daehyun is a transfer student with a killer left arm, and all he wants to do is play baseball. Youngjae is their high school baseball team's star pitcher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'Sports AU' square.

“Wait, who’s that guy?”

Youngjae double takes as he and Junhong pass the field, his ears picking up the familiar sounds of the hollow ping of a baseball bat popping a practice ball high into the air and the satisfying thunk of the ball sinking into a leather glove seconds later. He turns to watch as two figures in sweats and t-shirts dig their toes into their respective lots on the diamond.

The guy, a tiny figure on the pitcher’s mound, twists the ball around in his hand and glove, adjusting his grip, and taps two fingers against the bill of his cap.

Yongguk is batting. His form is something miraculous to watch - long and lean and angled, with just the right amount of follow through at the end. Youngjae is so focused on the line of his older teammate’s shoulders that he forgets to watch the pitcher until Yongguk is already swinging, the bat pinging again, smiling wide.

Yongguk opens his mouth to say something, but the words are lost on Youngjae’s ears because of the distance. The other guy says something, too, and then Yongguk waves him in.

Junhong says, “Did you see? He’s a leftie.”

“So?” Youngjae says automatically, shrugging the hand Junhong lays upon his shoulder off. They turn back around and walk with the crowd trying to surge into the school. The front steps are full of students, new and returning, and a few of them nod and wave to Youngjae as he makes his way through the familiar hall.

He nods and waves back, smiling, but his mind is turning over Junhong’s words.

“You guys could use a leftie,” Junhong says. “Coach is always saying that.”

“He’s probably a freshman,” Youngjae says. “That’s why we don’t recognize him. He’ll never make varsity.”

“ _You_ made it last year, and you were a sophomore,” Junhong says.

“I was a special case,” Youngjae sniffs.

Junhong laughs, and Youngjae flushes at how bigheaded he just sounded.

“I mean -- that’s not what I mean. I just meant that if Hongki hadn’t gotten injured, Coach wouldn’t have needed to recruit me,” Youngjae says quickly.

“I know what you meant,” Junhong says, patting Youngjae on the back again. “See you at lunch?”

Youngjae nods, and they part ways.

Junhong needs to go down a flight to the sophomore classrooms, while Youngjae steps into one of the junior homerooms.

It’s loud. The desks and chairs are lined up in paired columns, and someone has taken the liberty of opening the two back windows in the classroom, letting in the fresh breeze. Three girls are hanging halfway out of the room, waving and shouting at students below. All around him are students reconnecting after a long break in the summer, sharing stories about who dated whom and who traveled where and who might be dropping out.

Youngjae doesn’t care too much. He spent most of his summer on the diamond, or running laps on the track, his teammates Yongguk and Himchan keeping pace or urging him on. He didn’t have time to date, or travel, or otherwise. Mostly, he worked, and he threw baseballs at a target Yongguk created for him out of a tarp and duct tape.

Towards the end of summer, it had just been he and Himchan, running together, tossing the ball back and forth, and now he wonders if Yongguk had been busy with this new kid, and how he found him, and why he was wasting time with him, not when it was Yongguk and Himchan's senior year and they should be focusing on things like graduating and getting into college and possibly being recruited.

“How’s my favorite Ace!” Jaebum’s voice suddenly pierces through his thoughts as his friend grabs onto Youngjae’s shoulders from behind, herding him to a seat near the back. He sits him down and then takes the seat next to him, laughing. “Dude! Where have you been?!”

“Working,” Youngjae says, unable to keep the smile from his face. No matter what kind of mood he’s in or what he’s thinking about, Jaebum’s general pleasantness is infectious, and often welcome. “Training. I thought I told you that I’d be busy, like, all summer!”

"I didn't think that meant you'd fall off the face of the planet." He ruffles Youngjae's hair, a habit he'd cultivated when they were children and never managed to drop.

Youngjae shrugs. "Sorry." He smiles, cheeky. "Were you lonely?"

"No," Jaebum says, leaning back now into his seat. "I made new friends. I got past second base."

"I go past second base all the time," Youngjae returns.

"Not _this_ base. Also, that was a dumb joke," Jaebum says, eyes crinkling. "God, I forgot how dumb you are."

"Who are these supposed friends you're leaving me for?"

Another boy steps into the classroom, and Jaebum beams, waving enthusiastically. He ignores Youngjae's question and reaches over to pull out the seat in the column of seats next to them, and the boy walks over and plops down into it.

"Hey," he says sweetly.

It's Jinyoung. Jinyoung is a kid who has flown under the radar for almost their entire school career, until suddenly someone discovered he could sing like an angel and dance like an idol. Now, he is in high demand.

Jaebum says, "We started a band over the summer. We're a huge hit."

Youngjae rolls his eyes, and Jinyoung frowns. Jaebum says, "Don't mind Youngjae. He's like a cat: prickly with strangers but eventually when he likes you, you won't be able to get rid of him."

"I'm not like a cat," Youngjae protests, swiping at the back of Jaebum's head.

"See? Even got claws."

Jinyoung laughs, and then the class quiets.

Their teacher, Ms. Hwa, enters.

Jaebum switches instantly to his class president persona, straight-shouldered and serious, calling the class to attention and leading them through the greeting. Then attendance and introductions are done. Youngjae drifts during roll call, and is content to look out the window until Ms. Hwa calls his name.

The day is clear and crisp, summer on the edge of fall, and he wishes the day were over already so he could get out onto the field. He wonders if Yongguk or Junhong would join him. His arm could do with a little loosening up.

Ms. Hwa says an unfamiliar name, and Youngjae blinks, refocusing.

"Jung Daehyun?"

A bright voice answers. "Present."

Youngjae turns to find the source of the voice, and Jaebum taps his shoulder and points, guiding his line of sight.

"Daehyun-sshi," their teacher says. "It says here you're new. Would you like to come up here and introduce yourself?"

She phrases it as a question, but it's never a question. Daehyun is sitting near the front, off to the side, and his corner seems darker than the rest of the classroom, quiet and stuffy. Youngjae hadn't even noticed him on the way in.

"Oh," Daehyun says, the syllable trailing. "I guess. I should?"

His chair scrapes back and he stands, and the whispers start.

High school is a notoriously horrible place, if you’re a student. Teenagers are mean, vicious - Seoulites in particular carry a reputation of tenacious bullying and targeted social ostracizing. First impressions are important. Youngjae feels sorry for Daehyun.

His stature is small. From the back, he looks like he would still fit in at a middle school - narrow, tapered waist and and small shoulders. When he walks up to the front and turns, the pity disappears abruptly.

It's the guy from this morning, he's sure of it, even though he looks different now that he’s changed into their uniform and half-heartedly styled his short black hair. He’s darker than most of the other students, his skin smooth and honey-toned, like he’d soaked up the sun as a child. His eyes are huge. His lips are ridiculous.

The class seems to freeze in time, all attention on the new kid. Youngjae can see he's nervous; he swallows and clears his throat and flushes, color high on his cheeks.

He says, formally with a slight bow, a drawl accenting his speech, “I’m Jung Daehyun. I’m new this year and just moved from Busan. I’m looking forward to meeting everyone. Please take care of me.”

Then he flashes a smile, teeth blindingly white and eyes scrunching up, whiskers on his cheeks. One of the girls in the back squeaks, and that seems to break a dam, as suddenly there is a chorus of exclamations - indignation, compliments, delight. The girl sitting next to the one who squeaked is named Minah, and she says, “ _I’ll_ take care of you, Busan.”

Youngjae looks back at her, and she is licking her lips and biting them. At the front of the class, Daehyun is shifting his weight from foot to foot, the tips of his ears red. “Ah,” he starts, stammering. “Thank you.”

Ms. Hwa allows him to return to his seat as the two girls laugh, and motions for the class to quiet down.

Beside Youngjae, Jaebum snickers. “He’s done for,” he says. “They’re going to eat him alive.”

“Don’t be mean,” Youngjae cautions. “You’re the class president. You’re supposed to handle these kinds of situations.”

“Minah will _kill_ me. Do you want me to die? Maybe I just want to watch this unfold for a bit.”

Youngjae flicks Jaebum behind the ear, snorting when Jaebum startles and almost yells. Even though he doesn’t know Daehyun, he feels a sudden affinity for the new kid that he’s not sure he particularly wants to keep feeling.

He knows how it is to be the new guy in the group, trying to prove your worth. Last year, when he first joined the varsity team, the only person who spoke to him for the first two weeks was Yongguk, and that was only because he had to. Eventually his skills spoke for themselves, and that led to the team opening up to him, but it still stings when he thinks about it, how standoff-ish they were at the beginning.

It wasn’t like _he_ had broken Hongki’s arm in order to take his place on the team, though at first, at times, it certainly felt like he’d been the one to commit the crime.

“He was playing baseball with Yongguk-hyung earlier,” he says. “He can’t be that bad. I wonder why he moved.”

“Maybe he’s a bad boy. Maybe he got kicked out. Maybe he was, like, the school’s best fighter, or something.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes again, but Jinyoung beats him to speaking.

“Look at him,” Jinyoung says. “He looks like he’d try to punch someone and end up breaking his own knuckles.”

“Wait, he was playing ball? With Yongguk? Your team captain?” Jaebum asks rapidly. His eyes are wide, brain moving fast behind them.

Youngjae sighs. “Yeah.”

A piece of chalk flies between the two boys, and Youngjae flinches back, watching it land on the ground behind them with sharp eyes. Ms. Hwa says, “If you’d like to pay attention, now,” with both hands on her hips, and Youngjae and Jaebum bow their heads meekly, sealing their lips shut.

He looks over at Daehyun, who is sitting with his elbows on the desk and his hands clasped together like a model student, but as soon as Ms. Hwa turns her back to the whiteboard he slumps. He looks out the window.

Daehyun catches his eyes on him and blinks rapidly, cheeks turning red again. He seems to give up on paying any more attention than he has to, after that, turning back around and laying his head down on crossed arms. Youngjae thinks he starts doodling something.

He seems harmless, like a mouse. Skittish and timid.

Youngjae resolves not to be worried about why Yongguk was playing ball with him. He was probably just being friendly. A guy like Daehyun wouldn’t last one inning on the pitcher’s mound.

.


	2. Chapter 2

The day is perfect for a quick session of drills and maybe even a leisure game, and as Youngjae leaves his classroom he spots Yongguk with Himchan in the hall after the final school bell gathering up some members of the team from last year. He joins the group as they head to the locker rooms to change before going out to the diamond.

The other team members are all seniors this year -- Youngjae is the only rollover from last year who is now a junior, because of his circumstances, so he’s excited to think about who in his year will be at try-outs, who will make it. Probably Baekhyun and Jongdae will make it on, at least, and some other members of the previous year’s junior varsity team.

For now, he trails after his senior teammates to the diamond, bringing out his worn baseball glove and warming the leather up as Himchan sidles up next to him.

“Good summer?” Himchan asks him, lips curled into a grin. They fall into step.

“You were there for most of it,” Youngjae says, cocking his head.

“I know you spent your summer only thinking about how you can be a better pitcher to my catcher, but come on, Youngjae, you must have done something fun, right?” He’s trying not to laugh and failing, little snorts coming out of his mouth. Himchan has beat the whole pitcher-catcher innuendo to the ground, but still insists on using it whenever possible.

“I started a band,” Youngjae lies, thinking of Jaebum.

“Really?” Himchan says, surprised and slowing for a moment, but Youngjae says, “No,” laughing, and pushes past him, because now they are on the diamond.

It’s not a particularly fancy diamond -- pretty standard, with red dirt on the infield and spotty, perpetually yellowing grass surrounding it, bleachers behind tall fences and a scoreboard that could use some technology upgrades, but Youngjae has spent hours upon hours upon hours sweating on this field, bleeding from his fingers, almost passing out on the bleachers. It’s kind of -- home.

Officially, no one on the field right now is on the team this year yet, since try-outs haven’t happened. Unofficially, everyone on the field will be on the team this year. _Super_ unofficially, they will also probably all be starting for their primary positions.

Yongguk has them warming up in no time, like the good team captain he’s going to be. A light jog around the diamond and then tossing the ball back and forth, just loosening up the glove. Then Yongguk makes them practice dealing with grounders, and Youngjae gets absorbed into the ritual of it -- the ping of the bat, and then he swoops, low, to scoop the ball up and let it cradle into his glove before slinging it to first base, where Minseok is waiting to receive it.

After a few rounds of this, he notices a figure by the fences behind Yongguk near the dugout, and nearly misses the grounder Yongguk bats his way, which in turn, makes Yongguk spin to see what is behind him. “Daehyun!” Yongguk calls, and the figure by the fences waves with a little crook to his fingers.

“You told me to come by after, if I could,” Daehyun says through the fence, and Yongguk beckons everyone closer with a broad sweep of his arm. They fall in.

“Come in. Join us,” Yongguk says.

Daehyun steps around through the fence in the clothes he’d been wearing this morning, when Youngjae had first seen him on the pitcher’s mound, the bill of his cap slightly too low over his face for him to be able to see properly, if he were _really_ pitching. He puts his backpack with the pile of everyone else’s and shuffles to them, hovering by Yongguk’s shoulder when he gets to home plate.

“Guys,” Yongguk starts, sounding serious. He always sounds serious, though, so it’s not really a dramatic change. “Guys, this is Daehyun. I’m recruiting him.”

Daehyun flushes pink and ducks his head further, standing at ease the way someone in the military might, with his hands behind his back and his feet shoulder width apart, and Youngjae can see that he’s got discipline, has probably trained and was on a team, back in Busan.

A quick round of introductions follows with Daehyun looking like a puppy lost in a litter by the time he’s heard the fifth or sixth name, and then it’s Youngjae’s turn. He looks right at Youngjae and says, in that drawl of an accent, “Oh! You’re in my class.”

“Yeah,” Youngjae says.

Daehyun smiles at him, pleasant, but Youngjae frowns, unable to hide it. The smile drops from Daehyun’s face immediately. Youngjae’s not trying to be mean or anything. He’s just trying to figure out who this guy thinks he is.

“Hi,” Himchan says from behind Youngjae. “My name is Youngjae and it’s nice to meet you, is how introductions happen, little Yoo.”

“Shut up,” Youngjae returns, lips quirking. “He knows my name.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you were _rude_ , oh my god,” Himchan says. “I’m Himchan,” he adds, reaching out to shake Daehyun’s hand. “I play catcher. Yongguk told me about you. Said you really know how to change it up.”

Color reaches Daehyun’s cheeks from under the bill of his cap. Youngjae watches the flush spread, fascinated, as it dips down to his neck and then under. “I guess -- um,” Daehyun mumbles. “I just like playing ball.”

Actually getting him on the field is like watching a tight rosebud unfurl and bloom. He’d seemed shy and unobtrusive and insular for the whole day and just moments before, but he plays a few grounders with the team and opens, slowly, perfectly, his movements natural and languid but the force behind his throws streamlined and heavy.

The ball does not so much release from his left hand as _launch_ from it, and Youngjae wonders how such a skinny guy can pack that hefty of a throw.

Youngjae watches him when they run a few plays and notices the way he seems easily to fall into sync with the rest of the team, calling out directions after the first few plays before the ball even meets the bat.

He melds with the team better than Youngjae had, when he’d joined.

He already seems to be a part of it.

.

After the pick-up game, Youngjae and Daehyun end up catching the same bus home. There’s an awkward amount of shuffling before they find two seats near the back of the bus and decide to sit together, because stiff as Youngjae is, sitting apart on the bus after all that shared sweat on the field would get back to the team, and then things would be even more awkward. Yoo Youngjae, the jealous pitcher. That’s what they would say.

Youngjae isn’t jealous, not really. He can see the natural talent in Daehyun, the way he effortlessly picked up their plays and always seemed to throw directly into his target, like the ball was connected to some sort of string. He can also see that Daehyun’s skill is something he works at, but that it is not something he works at as hard as Youngjae does. And maybe that makes him a little bitter.

He sulks in his seat, hugging his bookbag against his chest, leaning away from the slight boy sitting the window seat next to him.

They pass the first stop in silence.

After the second, Daehyun clears his throat. “So, what stop are you at?” His voice is smooth and resonant; he could be very loud if he wanted to be, Youngjae thinks.

“It’s like another five stops,” Youngjae says, frowning a bit when Daehyun nods and smiles hugely.

“Me, too! We must be at the same one. If I’m remembering correctly, anyway.” He beams at Youngjae, so bright, and Youngjae comes up short with anything to add to the conversation. Daehyun seems to sense the lull as the bus ambles on, the wattage of his smile dimming. “So,” he says again. “How long have you been on the team?”

“I’ve been playing baseball since elementary school,” Youngjae says proudly. He sits up a little straighter and notices when Daehyun mirrors him. “But I joined the high school team right away. Last year I was the only second year on the varsity team.”

“You must be good, then,” Daehyun says guilelessly. Youngjae purses his lips. Daehyun saw him at the pick-up game! He knows just how good Youngjae is. They match each other well. Maybe a little too well. Daehyun continues, “What’s your position?”

“Pitcher,” Youngjae says immediately.

Daehyun’s eyes widen, smile breaking over his face again. “No way! I mean, I could kind of tell, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Me, too!”

“I know,” Youngjae says grumpily, though his grumpiness seems lost on the other boy. “I saw you this morning, on the field. You’re a leftie, huh.”

“Yeah,” Daehyun says, bobbing his head either because he is nodding or because the bus dips over a couple of potholes at that moment. “Yongguk-hyung said I could be helpful in mixing things up. I’m going to try out for the team. If I make it, we can be pitchers together!”

Where did that shy boy go, from class? The one who stuttered and couldn’t seem to look anyone in the eye. Now that they were talking about baseball, Daehyun was all open smiles and pats on Youngjae’s back. Youngjae bites the inside of his cheek and tries to curb this strange, hot feeling inside of him. He’s probably not trying to take over Youngjae’s spot on the team, and Youngjae needs to get a grip before he says something not very friendly at all. He hums a little and says, “Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice,” even though he already has his reservations about the idea.

The get off at the same stop; Youngjae goes up the hill, and Daehyun goes down. When he reaches the corner, Daehyun calls out his name. He pretends not to hear.

.

Sleep escapes Youngjae, tonight. He’s restless on his bed, legs tangled in his sheets as he turns the pillow over and over, hoping for a cool spot to lay his head. He keeps thinking about Daehyun, his white teeth, his smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the sound his baseball makes when it thumps into the seat of Himchan’s glove. _Smack!_ every time. Flawless.

He turns over again and stares up at the ceiling, rubbing the pads of his fingertips on his right hand together in thought. His fingers are leathery and calloused from years of pitching, and he’s good, he’s always been good. There’s never really been anyone else to take his place. Hongki is off to college already, and Junhong will likely stay with the junior varsity team another year. The appearance of Daehyun when he thought he was a sure-thing for starting pitcher on varsity makes him antsy. Youngjae is practical and ambitious, so he wants what is best for the team, but he’s also a little bit proud, so he wants what’s best to be himself.

He dreams of the pitching mound, digging the toe of his shoe into the hard packed dirt there, signaling across the field to Himchan. He throws. The balls seems to lift from his hand and float to the batter, who swings and connects, and the ball flies out of the park. The batter throws off his helmet when he runs the bases, leisurely and cool, waving at the crowd in the stands. Youngjae’s palms are slick and his heart’s beating fast. The batter turns to face him as he rounds first base. It’s Daehyun.

.


	3. Chapter 3

When Coach puts up the list of people who made varsity this season, Youngjae is first in line to read it. He scans over the list tacked to the corkboard outside of Coach’s office, jumping over familiar names -- Bang Yongguk, Kim Himchan, Kim Minseok, Byun Baekhyun -- until he reaches his own name and exhales a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His brain knew he was going to make the team, but that confidence didn't really reach his body, where his small insecurities and anxieties still lived. Curious, he looks farther down the list, eyes landing on _Jung Daehyun_.

Despite himself, he feels his lips quirking into a half-smile. The past few weeks have flown by in a blur of pick-up games and drills and leisurely practice sessions. Daehyun had been at all of them. At try-outs Daehyun had matched him stride for stride, pitch for pitch, and Youngjae found himself going home with butterflies in his stomach from the exhilaration of it all. Although the butterflies could come from just the awkward stilted conversation Daehyun attempts with him every few days on their bus rides home. What started as standoffish-ness and pride melted into anticipation and admiration and maybe even a little regret; he hadn’t made the best first impression, and now he’s not sure how to bridge the strange gap between them as they go over potholes and knock shoulders with each other. 

If Jung Daehyun hadn’t made the team, Youngjae thinks there would have been an accompanying emptiness inside of him, a certain longing he’s never felt before. Daehyun was born for the field; his talent is innate and only going to get better. The way he handles the baseball, fingers ghosting over the red seams, launching the ball like a bullet from a pistol, is seriously something to behold. Youngjae had secretly wanted to be Baekhyun that one time Daehyun took him aside to teach him how he threw his fast ball. Daehyun makes him nervous, makes him want to practice, makes him want to learn and grow and pitch until his fingertips bleed.

“Nice,” Yongguk says from behind him, nudging him aside with his shoulder. “We’ll be really strong this year.” He’s nodding at the roster and still slightly damp from his shower after another round of inflicting the team with his drills.

“You’re driving us like a captain of a military unit,” Youngjae says, laughing. “Of course we’ll be good.”

Yongguk scans the list for a couple moments longer, and Youngjae can see the gears working in that skull of his, creating lineups and primary positions and all that other stuff Yongguk will do with Coach Kang. Youngjae’s glad he’s never been made captain, never really wanted to be captain. All that strategy is something he’ll gladly leave to his video games.

“Everyone made it who you wanted to make it?”

“Yup,” Yongguk says. He taps his finger against the paper. “Everyone.”

The other boys are starting to file out of the locker room, smelling like minty body wash with traces of sweat and dirt. Youngjae steps to the side, congratulating his friends as they find their names posted up on the board. Daehyun is one of the last to trail out, hair damp and skin glistening from the humidity of the locker room. He smiles at Youngjae when they make eye contact, stepping close to the board. Youngjae breathes in allspice and vanilla and cloves, and it makes his head spin. “Congrats,” he says, the lightheadedness making his inhibitions float away as well. “We made it.”

Daehyun blushes, his cheeks tinged pink. “You were always going to make it,” he says, but he’s grinning and pleased. “Are you taking the bus home?” The way he asks it, Youngjae can tell he’s nervous. Of what? Rejection? Maybe Youngjae made an even worse impression than he thought.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says, licking his lips. He shifts the straps of his bookbag higher. “You wanna ride together?”

Daehyun’s smile breaks over his face and it gives Youngjae the same feeling as when you reach the top of a hill on a roller coaster, belly-swooping as you fall.

.


	4. Chapter 4

The eighth time around the diamond, Youngjae starts to feel the strain in his limbs, the burn in his muscles, and he pushes himself to run even faster. Daehyun, running next to him, grunts and increases his pace to match his, face red with exertion. They’re near the front of the pack, with Yongguk and Himchan leading and the rest of the team spread out around the field, kicking up red dust and grass.

“How many more?” Daehyun whines, panting. His feet had been light before, but now they fall heavy, thudding like stones. Youngjae isn’t faring much better. Every few practices, they focus on endurance rather than technique or sprints, and these are the practices where some team members feel suspiciously ill before the final bell, or have a twinge in their ankle they are worried about, so they sit out and watch the torture, sometimes getting up to cheer or toss the ball around with whomever happens to be in the stands.

Today, Minah and Hyeri are in the stands, clapping in unison and cheering for each member of the team as they pass, making up little nicknames for each. Youngjae is thankful he’s a familiar face and was their saving grace last year: his nickname is Ace and might always be. Daehyun’s is Busan, which he doesn’t seem to mind. Others are not so fortunate. Minseok, for example, the girls lovingly call Dumpling.

“Seven,” Youngjae says between breaths. “Just past halfway.”

“Why in the hell did you _speed up_ then?” Daehyun asks, and Youngjae smirks.

“You didn’t have to speed up with me,” he says, shoving ineffectively at Daehyun. His hand connects against the sweat-slicked skin of Daehyun’s forearm, but there’s no force behind his blow, and his hand glances off.

Daehyun says nothing. Over the past couple of weeks, they have fallen into a sort of pattern. Though they don’t talk much during the school day, they are nearly inseparable during practice. Coach trains them together, they run drills together, and they teach each other how they pitch. Youngjae thought he wouldn’t care for it, at first, accustomed to being the lone pitcher on the team, but now he wonders how he didn’t go crazy without a partner before. There’s no one else who can understand the demands and anxieties the pitcher takes on for the team. There’s no one else who can acknowledge that, yes, Youngjae, your technique is right but this pitch doesn’t quite suit you, and that’s okay. Daehyun’s fast ball is wicked but he has a lot to learn about a good curve, and Youngjae is just the opposite.

“Do you think,” Daehyun begins, mincing his words in time with his breath, “that Coach. Actually. Wants to kill us?”

“We do this once a week,” Youngjae says. “Aren’t you used to it by now?”

Daehyun grumbles something under his breath that Youngjae can’t quite catch, and then he shoves him back. The shove is unexpected, to say the least, and Daehyun apologizes with a start when Youngjae tumbles to the ground. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry--”

A couple of their teammates pass them, shaking their heads and grinning. Youngjae laughs, breathless, and throws out his hand for Daehyun to tug him up. Daehyun’s palms are grimy, but Youngjae holds on, marveling at the way their hands fit together.

“Yoo! Jung!” Coach blows his whistle, a sharp shrill noise. “Get moving, you two!”

They build back up into a jog, keeping apace, shoulder to shoulder.

.

Daehyun comes out of the shower with a towel around his waist and another smaller one around his shoulders, hair dripping water. Daehyun takes the longest with his showers, Youngjae has noticed, so he always ends up waiting for him as he’s pulling on his socks. Their lockers are close to each other, and Youngjae starts chatting with him as Daehyun contemplates changing.

“It’s nice out,” he says. “I wanted to get some ice cream on the way home. Do you want to come with?”

“Can’t,” Daehyun says distractedly. “I promised Minah and Hyeri I’d help them with something.” Somehow, Daehyun is able to keep the towel around his hips as he pulls on his underwear. Not that Youngjae is watching.

“What thing?” Youngjae asks, puzzled. He didn’t even realize Daehyun and Minah and Hyeri were friends.

Daehyun shrugs. “I don’t know. Girl stuff.”

“Like...shopping?”

“Probably.” He pulls on a t-shirt he hadn’t been wearing during the school day, and Youngjae realizes he’s never seen Daehyun in casual clothing, only in their school uniform, their team uniforms, and athletic wear for practice. He shimmies into a pair of dark jeans.

“I didn’t know you were friends,” Youngjae says next, feeling contemptuous and pouting a bit. He straddles the bench between lockers, arms crossed.

“We just...get along. Have similar interests, I guess,” Daehyun says. He avoids Youngjae’s gaze, pulling his things out of his locker and slamming the metallic door shut. He chews on his bottom lip. Youngjae longs to give him a pot of lip balm for how chapped his skin is getting, but thinks that might come across a bit weird. “Maybe we can get ice cream next time,” Daehyun offers, something like hope in his voice.

“Maybe,” Youngjae says shortly. “Are you -- dating one of them? Or _both_ of them?!”

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

Youngjae leans back onto his hands. “Just checking. I don’t know what you got up to in Busan, you know. You could be a playboy.”

“Well,” Daehyun mutters, slinging his back over his shoulder, “I’m not.”

Youngjae snaps his fingers, pointing. “That’s exactly what a playboy would say!” With a grin, he stands, pleased with himself when Daehyun grins back involuntarily. His friend shoves past him, shaking his head.

“Maybe next time you can come with us,” Daehyun suggests. “They’re really fun.”

“Like on a double date?”

“I’m not dating either of them!” Daehyun insists, squirming when Youngjae puts an arm around his shoulders. They continue this back and forth all the way down to the bus stop, where the girls are waiting, no longer in their school uniforms.

“Oh, is Youngjae coming, too?” Hyeri asks, the look in her eyes conniving.

“No,” Daehyun and Youngjae say at the same time. Daehyun falls silent, tucking his chin against his chest, blushing. Youngjae continues, “I have too much work to do. You guys have fun, though.”

“We will,” Minah promises cheerfully. “We’ll have _so_ much fun.”

The girls sweep Daehyun up between them just as the bus arrives, and they say their goodbyes as Youngjae boards. Youngjae sits near the back of the bus; he can see when Daehyun glances behind him longingly, although their eyes don’t meet.

The bus goes over too many potholes. Youngjae puts on his headphones and turns up his music, ignoring the empty space next to him.

.


	5. Chapter 5

“So what’s it like dating two girls?” Himchan’s grin is broad, unrestrained. The locker doors slam shut around them, the musky smell of boys fresh from the field heavy in the air.

Daehyun flushes red to his ears as he towel-dries his hair. “I told you -- I’m not dating _either_ of them. We’re just friends.”

“Well, then,” Himchan says, “are either of them possibly interested in yours truly? Best catcher in the school--”

Youngjae interjects: “--just the oldest--”

“--and devilishly handsome besides?” Himchan glares at Youngjae as he finishes, twirling the towel in his hands threateningly. Youngjae sticks out his tongue and squawks when the towel snaps against his backside, Himchan’s aim perfectly accurate, as always.

“They like some people,” Daehyun says, “but I’m not allowed to tell.”

“Ooh.” Himchan takes on a high-pitched, whiny tone. “Please? Aren’t we your best buds?”

“I promised them I’d keep it a secret! I’m not gonna tell.” Daehyun finishes changing, once again dressed in dark jeans and a loose t-shirt. “It’s not like it’s either of _you_.”

Himchan imitates being shot by an arrow to his chest, wincing and shouting, “That hurts!”, but Youngjae sees the way Daehyun’s mouth twitches at the corners, a sign that he’s not telling the entire truth. As they laugh, Youngjae checks the time on his phone.

“Come on,” Youngjae says, tugging on Daehyun’s sleeve. “We’ll miss our bus.”

“Is it because of that one time in middle school I threw up all that pizza after running two miles in gym?” Himchan is asking. “I couldn’t help that!”

“I doubt it,” Daehyun fires back quickly. “And that’s disgusting.”

Himchan shrugs, and Youngjae tugs one last time on Daehyun’s sleeve. “Whatever,” Himchan says. “Bye.”

“See you tomorrow, hyung,” Youngjae and Daehyun chorus, before leaving the locker room. They walk to the bus stop together, the air cooling around them. The leaves have all turned by now, making everything seem golden and bronzed. Daehyun hums a little tune on their walk down, and when Youngjae turns to look at him he is caught by the way the waning sunlight glances off his lashes.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Youngjae blurts out, cheeks coloring.

“Me? Nothing much…” Daehyun trails off, chewing on his bottom lip, forever in need of lip balm. “Probably just helping my mom around the apartment.”

“Come over,” Youngjae says, before reassessing his request. “I mean, come over and we can play some video games together or something. I just got the new Dark Souls.”

“Oh, I’m not really a gamer--”

“Then just come over to hang. We live so close to each other, anyway. Plus, my mom makes really good kimbap.”

Daehyun smiles. It makes Youngjae’s chest swell with delight. “I’m a fan of kimbap,” Daehyun says.

.

The morning Daehyun is supposed to come over feels like Youngjae is getting ready for the first day of school all over again. His hair can’t sit right. This shirt looks too sloppy; that one like he’s trying too hard. His face decided to grow a pimple on the point of his chin while he was sleeping, and pinching at it only makes it worse.

“Does your friend like radish?!” his mother calls from their kitchen, busy making some snacks for the boys to munch on throughout the day.

“He likes everything, Mom!” he calls back down from in front of the mirror in their bathroom, unsure why he feels the need to put every strand of hair in its proper place.

“Okay, but does he like radish?!”

“Yes!”

“I’m putting it in the kimbap!”

“That’s fine, Mom!”

Youngjae huffs out a breath, fixing his hair in silence. He’d settled on a plain, v-neck tee and jeans and -- oh goodness, what if he’s overdressed? What if Daehyun comes over expecting to veg out the whole day and is just in sweats? Relax, Youngjae reminds himself. Youngjae lives here. Youngjae can change if he needs to change.

Just then, their buzzer rings.

“That’s your friend!” his mother calls again from the kitchen. “Can you get it? My hands are too sticky with rice!”

“Got it!” Youngjae rushes to the door, where he takes a quick look at the security camera by the entrance. Daehyun is there, standing with his head bowed, backpack on one shoulder and snapback backwards on his head. He’s wearing jeans and a clean-cut black t-shirt. Youngjae buzzes Daehyun in through the lobby, then waits by the door to listen for him coming up the steps and down the hall to their apartment.

A slow minute passes. Finally, Youngjae hears steps, and they pause in front of his door, so he throws it open to reveal Daehyun with his eyes wide and hand raised, poised to knock. “Um,” Daehyun says, “hello?”

“Come in!” Youngjae excitedly ushers him in, just as his mother emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands dry on her apron. “Mom, this is Daehyun. Daehyun, Mom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Yoo,” Daehyun says politely, bowing.

Youngjae’s mother titters. “You’re adorable!” she exclaims. “Ah, all my Youngjae’s friends are adorable. It’s nice to meet you, Daehyun. I just made lots of kimbap for you all to eat later, when you’re hungry. And there’s some cut up melon in the fridge. And dried seaweed in the cabinet. And leftover rice in our rice cooker. You know how to work the rice cooker, right--”

“Thanks, Mom,” Youngjae says, smiling tightly. Daehyun looks a bit like he might faint from over-exposure. “We got it.”

“Of course,” she says. “Well, you boys have fun. I’m just going to get my things. Got a whole day planned with friends. You can call if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Yoo,” Daehyun says, again very politely, ducking his head. Youngjae’s hand finds Daehyun’s wrist, and he begins to tug the boy to his room before he’s even taken off his shoes. Once they get over this obstacle, Youngjae easily pulls Daehyun in socked feet across their living room and into the hallway, turning left into his room.

“You can put your things here.” Youngjae gestures to his bed, and Daehyun dumps his bag there, doing a slow turn to scan Youngjae’s walls. They are covered in posters -- of baseball players, of video games, and of singers.

“You like Lloyd*?” Daehyun asks, gesturing to one of Youngjae’s posters.

Youngjae nods. “They’re great. Really soulful. I really want to see them live.”

“Me, too,” Daehyun says, taking in the rest of Youngjae’s room. He finds a shelf of figurines on it and turns them in their configurations carefully.

“Well, if they ever come to Seoul, maybe we can go together,” Youngjae suggests.

Daehyun straightens and stretches his hands high above his head. His shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of skin at his belly, tanned and toned. Youngjae looks away, swallowing hard. “I’d really like that,” Daehyun says softly.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I have no idea who/what lloyd is only that youngjae mentioned them once in haruharu and a quick google search of the name did not reveal anything, so for the sake of this fic, let's assume lloyd is a band of some sort, maybe akin to the roots.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny update

Sometime in the early afternoon, after all the kimbap has been eaten, Youngjae and Daehyun find themselves sunken into the couch in the living room, feet on the coffee table, mindlessly watching a reality show about the lives of idol trainees. As the host in the show gives them a tour of the trainees’ dorm rooms, Daehyun’s shoulder comes up against Youngjae’s, warm and solid, and stays there.

“What’s it like, staying in the dorms?” the host, a bubbly young trainee herself, asks one of the boys being filmed.

The boy scratches the back of his head. He’s still in pajamas, his eyes swollen with sleep, and looks about the same age as Daehyun and Youngjae are. His group are slated to debut in a couple of months. “Different,” he answers honestly. “I’m from a smaller town so when I first moved here, I wasn’t used to anything. The other boys have been so helpful.” He laughs sheepishly. “But I’d be lost without our leader.”

The girl says, “Aren’t _you_ the leader of the group?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m just the oldest, I was--”

“I know how he feels,” Daehyun suddenly says from Youngjae’s side. If Youngjae just shifted down an inch, Daehyun would be laying his head on his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Youngjae stares at the screen; if he turned to face Daehyun, their noses might touch. Daehyun turns to him anyway, supporting himself with his hands on the couch cushions right next to Youngjae’s thigh. This close, Youngjae can feel Daehyun’s breath on his cheek.

“The team is great,” he says, “but if I hadn’t met you, I would have been so miserable.”

Youngjae shifts until he can look at Daehyun comfortably, taking in the slight upturn of his lips, the rich dark color of his eyes. His heart is beating a wild rhythm in his chest. A pause, and then because he can register it, their lips are touching in a light, butterfly-wing kiss.

“Youngjae--”

His eyes are closed. When did that happen?

Panic makes Youngjae pull back. He’s not sure how his face looks right now -- pale with shock? Surprised? A tendril of anger at himself for losing composure manifests as a tight-lipped frown. Daehyun’s face is open and honest and bare, and he is leaning toward him still.

“Sorry,” Youngjae whispers reactively. His hands come up to cover his mouth. His blood is hot and desire thrums in his ears. How could he just do that to Daehyun? He stands. “I just -- need to--”

Youngjae bolts to the bathroom, where he closes the door and runs the faucet, breathing deep and slow. In the mirror over the sink, he can see he is blushing all over. Quickly, he splashes the cold running water on his face, drying himself with a towel hanging on the door, thinking about Daehyun’s lips. They had been soft and dry and wonderful. It had been about a million times better than when he kissed Yeri that one time as a dare in seventh grade. When he looks into the mirror again, the hair framing his face damp and curling at his temples, he exhales purposefully and nods at his reflection. His heart has calmed but the yearning is still there.

He opens the door and walks into the hallway, back out into the living room, rehearsing what he’s going to say in his head: _I’m sorry. I got nervous. I liked kissing you. Can we try again?_

But he looks up from his feet and Daehyun is at the door with his bag over his shoulders -- he must have gotten it quickly from Youngjae’s room when Youngjae disappeared into the bathroom. A stone drops in Youngjae’s stomach. “Where are you going?”

Daehyun says without once turning to face him, his voice heavy and dense, “My mom -- I forgot I said I would help her with something. I’m. I’ll see you at school, Youngjae.”

He leaves before Youngjae can say anything else. The door shuts, and the apartment seems too empty.

“When it’s just me,” one of the boys on television is saying, “it can get pretty lonely.”

.


	7. Chapter 7

At school, Jaebum is waiting for Youngjae with a grin on his face.

“This weekend,” Jaebum says, “The Arcade. Come. We’re gonna be playing!”

“Like a real show?” Youngjae asks, turning to scan the classroom. No Daehyun yet. He sits in the back row, setting his teeth together to keep the disappointment from his face. “Or like busking outside?”

Jaebum makes to shove his head but Youngjae ducks, avoiding the playful attack. “You little--”

Ms. Hwa enters then, and Jaebum goes quiet and pleasant, folding his hands in front of him on his desk. Slowly, the class settles down.

“Good morning, class,” Ms. Hwa says, already turning to the board. The piece of chalk in her hand scratches against the blackboard. Jaebum calls class to order, and Youngjae stands with the rest of them, glancing over at Daehyun’s empty desk. Where is he? Is he sick? He seemed fine when he left Youngjae’s apartment, if a little shaken and rushed. Youngjae frowns at the memory; he’d tried not to dwell on it but ended up texting Daehyun multiple times up until last night, asking if he was okay. When all he got was silence, he reluctantly gave it a rest.

As they are saying their greetings, Minah turns to shoot him a nasty glare. She shakes her head when Youngjae mouths, “What?”

Confused, he sits with the rest of the class.

“What was that about?” Jinyoung whispers out of the corner of his mouth. Youngjae shrugs.

A shape whizzes by the inner classroom windows, accompanied by the rapid footfalls of someone running. Daehyun appears in the doorframe, red-cheeked and breathing hard, already bowing to their teacher. “Sorry! I’m late, sorry!”

Ms. Hwa shoos at him like a fly. "Sit. We’ve just started. You will stay after a couple minutes to help me clean.”

Daehyun goes to sit, the back of his neck flushed from exertion. Youngjae watches sweat trickle from his nape down under the collar of his shirt, willing him to look his way.

He doesn’t.

.

Though Daehyun is present during practice, he’s not really _present_. He does the drills and practices his pitches and runs after grounders but when Youngjae asks him if he wants to catch the bus home together, he finds the other boy is already gone. He doesn’t respond to Youngjae’s texts, or to his greetings in the hall. Once, Youngjae sees him before school waiting for the bus at the stop, but Youngjae is too many blocks away and the bus is already there. He watches Daehyun board with a strange, heavy feeling in his gut.

Minah gives him the stink eye more than once. She and Hyeri form a sort of wall around Daehyun in the classroom and outside of it, and Daehyun is never alone.

“Did something happen between you two?” Jaebum asks Youngjae. They’re a week into this behavior, and Youngjae is just about to rip his hair out in frustration.

“You could call it something,” Youngjae says, eating his lunch miserably with the others near the back of the classroom. He’s been thinking about the kiss ever since it happened. What went wrong? Did his breath really, really stink? Hyeri, Minah, and Daehyun eat together, their own little trio, sharing treats out of their lunch boxes.

“What was it?”

“Nothing,” Youngjae says grumpily.

“Well,” Jaebum says, “it’s freaking me out. So you should undo this nothing and fix it. Plus, you’re really grumpy and stuff all the time now.”

“Am not,” Youngjae says. He pouts. He steals a bite of chicken from Jinyoung’s lunch. They let him have it, graciously.

.

There’s a game this week. The school puts up banners announcing it, and the team is jittery with excitement and nerves. It’s their first showing, and it will likely set the pace for the rest of the season. Jaebum and Jinyoung promise to come, and when Youngjae looks up from the dugout to see if he can see his friends, he spots the pair sitting with Minah and Hyeri, who seem to have foregone their silent disapproval of Youngjae and his friends for this one afternoon.

“Let’s go Youngjae!” Jaebum is shouting. He’s appropriated big blow-up clappers from somewhere. Jinyoung covers his ears next to him. “LET’S GO ACE!”

Youngjae tips his cap at them, feeling heat rush into his cheeks. No matter how many games he plays and how successful he is at them, he still feels utterly charmed and blown away whenever people are there to see him and support him.

“You ready?” Himchan says, clapping Youngjae on the back. He has his catcher’s mask on, but the grill is up. The other team are up to bat first. Himchan glances between Youngjae and Daehyun, who is sitting with his cap low over his eyes on the far side of the bench, away from the others. They’ve all noticed him pulling away from the team.

“Yeah, it’ll be great,” Youngjae promises.

Coach put Daehyun up to pitch first, and Youngjae thinks it’s because he noticed the heavy atmosphere around them. Maybe he thought giving Daehyun space to shine on the mound would lift the heavy mood.

Youngjae catches him before the game starts, before Daehyun can dart away. His sleeve in Youngjae’s fingers. “Hey.”

Daehyun turns, his face set and hard. His game face. “Hey.”

“You’ll be amazing,” Youngjae encourages. “Good luck.”

For a moment, Daehyun’s eyes soften. The shadows lighten. He almost smiles. “Thank you.”

Then he’s gone.

The game always feels too short and too long all at once, to Youngjae. He loves the slow creeping thrill of it, watching his friends make plays, waving at the stands. But watching Daehyun on the mound is torture. Something is off. He and Himchan aren’t communicating well, and he lets one too many batters make too many runs. Even before the third inning is over, Coach switches them out.

“Sorry,” is all Daehyun mumbles on his way in, accepting the conciliatory pats and squeezes on his shoulders. He sits in the corner of the dugout, eyes on the game. Youngjae takes his place.

He and Himchan have always communicated well. When the sun is just peeking over the horizon and sweat is glistening at Youngjae’s temples and matting his hair, the game ends.

They win.

.

It’s customary for Coach to take them all out to dinner after games. In the locker room, though, when they’ve all changed and are waiting on the last of them to gather before they go, Youngjae sees Daehyun leave the building out of the corner of his eye. Youngjae’s mother hadn’t been able to attend because she was sent on a business trip, but Daehyun didn’t mention why his family didn’t show.

High on their win and still fending off congratulatory hugs (and some kisses), Youngjae shoulders his bag, shakes the water from his hair, and calls back to his team over his shoulder. “Just remembered I said I’d do something!” Before they can protest, he’s out in the night air.

Daehyun is trudging down the bus stop, shoulders hunched. When Youngjae catches up to him, he startles like he’s seen a ghost.

“Didn’t want to stick around for celebratory dinner?” Youngjae asks, stepping lightly with him.

“Not much for me to celebrate,” Daehyun says. He lets the conversation disintegrate between them.

Youngjae sighs, feeling too good about their team and their win to let himself be drawn down. When they are at the bus stop, he tries again: “Going home?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I...ride with you?”

A moment of hesitation. Daehyun glances down the street to where a bus is approaching, its lights twinkling against the backdrop of the sky. “I guess,” he says.

The bus approaches and they board, finding a seat by the windows. Daehyun climbs in first, sitting heavily. Their shoulders brush against each other when Youngjae takes the seat next to him. He feels Daehyun tense, but he doesn’t pull away.

“What happened with the game?” Youngjae asks. “I know you can pitch better than that.”

Rather than tense up further, Daehyun seems to sag as the bus rumbles along the street. He looks out the window, and Youngjae catches the eyes of his reflection there in the glass. He looks sad. Tired. “I was distracted,” Daehyun admits.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Daehyun sinks lower into the seat, hugging his bag to his chest. He doesn’t say anything. Youngjae, unsure how to draw Daehyun out of himself, sits back and lets the bumping of the bus over potholes shift him minutely closer.

Halfway home, Daehyun furrows his brows together and says suddenly, “Did you mean it when you kissed me?” Youngjae looks at him, shocked, a flutter in his stomach. Red creeps up Daehyun’s neck to his ears. Youngjae keeps staring, and Daehyun retreats. “Never mind. Sorry. Never--”

“Is that what this is about?” Youngjae asks.

“It’s stupid,” Daehyun says, turning away and staring out the window again.

“I don’t think it's stupid,” Youngjae says. His pulse beats wildly in his ears. He remembers that kiss, so soft and tiny, a baby bird they were supposed to cradle within their hands. “Have you been -- ignoring me -- because of that?”

Daehyun frowns sharply. Youngjae is alarmed to see water gathering in Daehyun’s eyes. “You freaked out, Youngjae,” Daehyun says, anger quickly melting into something that sounds like exhaustion. “You freaked out, and then I didn’t know what to do--”

“I know,” Youngjae says. “I shouldn’t have left you alone so suddenly like that.” Their voices are gathering the attention of other bus riders, but Youngjae doesn’t care. Daehyun huddles in the seat next to him, angry and hurt and hopeful. “But you shouldn’t have left, either! I wanted -- to do it again.”

Just like that, all the anger drops from Daehyun’s face. He whispers, “What? So you meant it?”

“Of course I did,” Youngjae says. He lowers his voice so that it is meant just for the two of them. “Of course I meant it. You should see yourself, Dae -- You’re amazing. I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you.” He feels bare suddenly, like he’d pulled his heart out of his chest to let Daehyun see how it beats. The game feels very, very far away.

Daehyun’s shoulders hunch further. “It’s not a joke? You won’t take it back?” When Youngjae nods, Daehyun pulls him in and hugs him, at first with uncertainty, and then tighter and tighter. “Are you sure no one put you up to this?”

Youngjae hugs him back, breathing in the scent of him. “I’m very sure.”

“I’m sorry I disappeared,” Daehyun says on the exhale. Their chests touch. Youngjae nuzzles his cheek against Daehyun’s hair.

“We both messed up,” Youngjae says. “So let’s start over.”

“Okay,” Daehyun says.

They get off at the same stop. They hold onto each other. As the bus pulls away and leaves them standing in a golden pool under the street light, they kiss. It’s even more exhilarating than the first.

.


End file.
